“Is the taste that moving?”
Marie asked proudly.
Hans couldn’t speak and could only manage a smile at the corner of his mouth.
He raised his hand, gesturing for her to try it too.
“Wow, it’s really delicious! My skills haven’t changed at all!”
Tasting the dish filled with her own preferences, Marie began clearing her plate at an alarming speed with great satisfaction.
Seeing her, Hans’s face fell.
Who exactly had lost their sense of taste here?
He reluctantly forced Marie’s strange cooking into his mouth.
His tongue felt numb anyway, so he couldn’t taste anything.
Focusing solely on the goal of finishing his portion, he moved diligently until the empty surface of the plate appeared.
“You’ve finished already? Was it that delicious?”
His happy friend—no, enemy—piled a mountain of pasta onto his emptied plate, oblivious to his suffering.
“Have some more.”
“No, you seem hungrier……”
“Come on, you worked hard carrying luggage yesterday, so you should eat more.”
As Hans despaired, Gretel and the cook, who had just woken up, opened the door and came into the hallway.
“Oh my, what’s all this?”
“Everyone’s awake? I’ve prepared breakfast, so wash up and come join us.”
“Pardon? You, Miss?”
“Miss, you didn’t have to……”
The other unsuspecting victims were moved to tears before sitting at the table of death after washing up.
Soon, funeral offerings were laid before them as well.
Hans, who had been enduring through sheer mental fortitude, was internally mourning for them when, strangely enough, those eating the oatmeal porridge showed no particular reaction.
They looked comfortable, as if eating ordinary food.
“It doesn’t taste like anything, right? I really didn’t add anything to that since it’s for patients.”
“Oatmeal porridge is supposed to be like that. You’ve cooked it very smoothly, though?”
“Right? I’m somewhat confident in my cooking.”
“With skills like these, I might be out of a job! I’m scared of being fired.”
“No way! It’s not that good.”
The cook didn’t seem to be offering empty flattery at all.
Marie’s shoulders rose with pride at the shower of compliments.
Hans felt somewhat wronged.
The oatmeal porridge seemed to have been cooked properly. So why was only his food like this?
“Miss, can I have what Hans and you are eating? The oatmeal porridge is too bland, and I’d like some properly seasoned regular food.”
“It’s a bit spicy, is that okay?”
A bit spicy?
Hans looked at Marie with an incredulous expression.
“Of course. I don’t have an upset stomach, just a stuffy nose, so I could use something with a slightly stronger flavor.”
Stop right now.
He tried desperately to send warning glances, but unfortunately, his signals didn’t reach Gretel.
“I’d like to taste Miss’s pasta too.”
Another voluntary sacrifice had appeared.
Hans couldn’t bring himself to stop them and just pressed his throbbing forehead.
“Sure. I made plenty, so eat as much as you like.”
Marie brought new plates and served pasta to each of them.
As soon as they tasted the pasta, they showed the same reaction as Hans.
Tears immediately welled up in their eyes after the first bite.
Gretel and the cook simultaneously dropped their forks.
Their tongues stung and their noses felt completely cleared.
Seeing their reactions, Hans realized there was nothing wrong with his sense of taste.
“W-what kind of d-dish is this exactly?” the cook asked, stammering with a pale face.
“Aglio e olio.”
“Is this the aglio e olio that I know?”
“Yes. Aglio means garlic and olio means oil. It’s an oil pasta with garlic.”
The cook finally realized that the intense burning sensation filling his mouth was from garlic.
He knew what garlic aroma was, but he had never experienced such a strong flavor before.
That’s why he hadn’t even recognized it as garlic flavor.
“How much garlic did you… put in this?”
“Hmm, I didn’t count, but since it’s for two or three servings, I probably used about a handful? So maybe ten cloves?”
“What? A h-handful?”
“Actually, for perfection you need both sliced garlic and minced garlic, but I didn’t have time to crush any.”
“And the peperoncino…?”
“I added plenty of that too, of course.”
Marie smiled contentedly, satisfied with a life where she didn’t need to worry about ingredient costs.
Those tiny peperoncinos had been so expensive that during her days living alone, she had often substituted them with cheongyang peppers.
Looking back now, she did miss pasta loaded with cheongyang peppers.
“Miss, traditionally, authentic aglio e olio uses only about three cloves of garlic to lightly infuse the flavor, and then they’re removed……”
“Come on, how can you get any garlic flavor with just three cloves? And why remove them when they’re meant to be eaten?”
Marie snickered as if the idea was absurd.
Indeed, Koreans were descendants of Ungnyeo, who had survived in a cave for one hundred days eating only mugwort and garlic.
For these people of garlic, “a little garlic” in a recipe meant at least ten cloves, and their threshold for spiciness was so high that anything below it wasn’t even registered as spicy.
It was a country where those with weak tongues couldn’t survive.
For Marie, who took pride in her spice tolerance, even this pasta was only moderately spicy.
In Korea, aglio e olio wasn’t about lightly infusing pasta with garlic flavor; it was about frying garlic in oil and tossing in pasta as if it were just a topping.
The pasta was merely a vehicle—the real delicacy was chewing the potent garlic that had given up its spicy, fiery flavor to the noodles, leaving it with a potato-like taste.
“What’s wrong? Can none of you handle spicy food?”
At Marie’s question, all three victims nodded simultaneously.
In this world, she was nothing short of a rare treasure.
‘This is supposed to be a K-romance fantasy, but they can’t even handle this much? Tsk, such weakness.’
She was overlooking something important.
Koreans rarely considered food without capsaicin to be spicy.
“Oh, I’ll be more careful in the future. So how many cloves of garlic or peperoncinos should I use for it not to be spicy?”
The cook realized Marie had completely lost her sense of pain perception in her tongue.
The three exchanged silent glances without her noticing.
They silently agreed that even if they had to take turns cooking, they would never let Marie into the kitchen again.
“Miss, you don’t need to come to the kitchen anymore. I fear for my job.”
“No, you’re still sick. At least for today, I’ll……”
“I’m completely recovered! Absolutely fine now!”
The power of Korean spice was remarkable.
It had apparently worked a miracle, instantly curing their illnesses.
“By the way, Miss, I was planning to go shopping today. May I ask what budget I should work within?”
When they were at Baron Klein’s residence, the kitchen had a substantial budget, allowing them to purchase good ingredients without financial concerns.
The system involved writing down their address at grocery stores and taking the food, after which bills would be sent to the residence. The butler would collect these bills, get approval from the head of the household, and pay each shop.
Having never worked in the home of an independent noble lady before, he wasn’t sure how things would work here.
“Don’t worry about money—buy whatever you want. When the bills arrive, I’ll pay them separately.”
“Are you sure that’s acceptable?”
“You know best about balanced diets, ingredient freshness, nutrition, and taste.”
“But……”
“None of you need to tighten your belts and pinch pennies because of me. I didn’t bring you here to make you suffer.”
“Miss……”
Gretel and the cook’s eyes reddened again.
Marie’s current life was worlds apart from her previous one.
A life where she had been treated as disposable.
She had dreamed of striking it rich and tried investing in stocks, but always bought at the peak and experienced crashes, leaving her unable to sell.
No one had come to rescue her from her high-rise predicament.
That lone ant had now become a major shareholder.
Goodbye to the days of crying while watching blue downward arrows.
If Schrödinger’s company’s stock rose after going public, she could live off unearned income for the rest of her life.
‘My era of success is just beginning.’
At that point, Marie was still caught up in her grand dreams, forgetting one crucial fact.
High returns always come with high risks.
Unlisted stocks lack institutional protection, making them just as easy to become worthless paper.
※※※
Thirty minutes before Marie’s dreams would be shattered.
That day, like any other, Marie was rolling around on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, reading a romance novel.
Gretel and the cook had gone to the marketplace for their day off.
Marie would have joined them in the past, but since the autumn winds had turned cold, she found going outside bothersome.
These days, her simple pleasure was piling novels on the table and reading them.
Home truly was the best.
At the baronial residence, she had felt uncomfortable with both the house and people, always wanting to go out, but now that she had a “real home” of her own, nothing could be more comfortable.
With no one to be mindful of, she was thoroughly enjoying her unemployed homebody lifestyle.
“Want something to drink?”
Hans asked, sitting askew against the sofa’s backrest.
Marie sat up abruptly at the rich chocolate aroma tickling her nose.
Hot chocolate with a splash of milk was a drink that could rouse her even from sleep.
Taking the cup from Hans’s hand, Marie took a sip and smiled brightly with a look of pure happiness.
“Is it that delicious?”
“Yes. I feel like I’m gaining weight from drinking this so often.”
“I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve gained some weight too from drinking it with you.”
“What do you mean, gained weight?!”
Marie shouted indignantly.
